


Belonging

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>" 'Don’t hold back.' The sentiment rings in the sounds their attacks make, and Heisuke knows the other two can hear it when they look at each with that knowing expression.</i><br/>Each movement he makes is filled with every part of himself, and he can tell it’s the same for Nagakura." </p><p> </p><p>How the Idiot Trio gained their third member. A not so short looked into Heisuke's life before Shieikan, and realizing what he'd been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hakuouki, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** I actually wasn't sure whether to make this G or T, and I always go to the higher rating if I'm not sure (better to be safe). Anyway there is strong language, some mild angst, and references to bullying (for lack of a better word).
> 
> This fic kind of ran away with me. It was supposed to just be Heisuke arriving at Shieikan, and then I was watching Heisuke-hen again and this happened... So here you go.

 

* * *

    Often he wonders what had been going through his mother’s mind when she decided to have an affair with his father. Really, what good could come from a regular girl from town becoming involved with the daimyo of the Ise Tsu domain? Well one could argue a child, albeit an illegitimate one, is a good thing. Heisuke chuckles, but the sound is forced and dry. God bless his mother, she tries. It’s apparent even to one as young as himself that she hadn’t be planning on being a mother so soon, and with his father being who he is she receives no help raising Heisuke other than a monetary donation. It was more like hush money in reality... Either way money is a poor substitution for a father. It is surprisingly difficult to get a coin to give you advice, or pat your head when you’ve done something worth being proud of. Metal pieces are no replacement for a parent. But his father, he, well it’s a touchy subject. Asking his mother about his dad always seems to achieve the same result one would get from plunging their hand into a stack of needles attempting to find a piece of hay. Painful, sharp, and not at all worth it after a few especially painful attempts. All he really knows about the man that fathered him is that he’s the head of the Ise Tsu clan, and that he wants nothing to do with Heisuke.

    Sometimes when he catches a glimpse of his reflection he wonders which one of his parents he looks more like. His reflection is his own of course, and yet he wonders. You always hear people say “oh, he has your nose” or “look she has her father’s eyes.” Parts of himself are so familiar to him because they come so clearly from his mother. Those parts are tangible. A clear connection to the person he calls mom. But there are other pieces of him that are not from his mother. Trying to connect anything about himself to his father feels like trying to grasp sand, it slips through his fingers leaving a cool gritty sensation of something that _had_ been there but isn’t his to hold on to. What he is certain of, is that his father doesn’t care about him. He is a mistake. A mistake that should have known that people seem to have a strange sixth-sense, a terrible way of knowing when you’re different. That lesson would scratch away at him over days, weeks, months. Little oddities in the ways others behave around him leads him toward- Toward something. Something he can’t make sense of stumbling around in the confines of his own mind. Even so, he doesn’t spend too much time on it. It’s hard to worry about such unpleasantries when there are so many other things to enjoy such as the ducks on the pond, or the treats he can smell his mother preparing.

    As he grows older he begins to notice that things he once believed to be odd, were actually cruel. This cruelty that made no sense at first. It takes time for him to realize _why_ people seem to sneer at him when he is playing around in town while his mom shops. Whispers behind hands, and gazes of cold disapproval had been lost on him as a small child. Now he is beginning to notice. Glares he had never paid attention to make him shift uncomfortably, seeking a way to become invisible. Suddenly his mother’s kimono seems far too small to hide behind when he feels uneasy in his own skin. Too small to protect him from the questions he is still too young to answer. There is something about him they do not like. Still he doesn’t really understand it. As a cheerful child who only gets in trouble with his mother once in a while, (honestly he didn’t mean to spill the ink all over his bedding) it doesn’t make sense. Why don’t they like him? Maybe it isn’t him they don’t like. As time crawls onward, Heisuke is (almost) shocked to realize that his mother receives just as many, if not more harsh reactions than he does. She never tells him why they don’t like her. When he asks she looks as though the air from her lungs has been forced out by some tremendous blow. Frozen still as the statues at the temple her eyes go hard, before softening. She ruffles his hair, and tells him not to pay them any mind. So he doesn’t. For a while he is as carefree as any child. Maybe a bit overzealous and a little loud, but he feels fine for the most part. Occasionally when other kids inquire about his parents that feeling of doubt creeps up, just a ghost of a touch on his shoulder reminding him that they have something he does not. A father, or at least knowledge of their father. Some children have fathers who had died as warriors. They speak proudly, and with a fondness of their lost parents that leaves him feeling slightly… abandoned? His dad is alive, add that to the depressingly short list of things he knows about him. Despite all of this doubt that swirls around him and threatens to make him lose his way in a haze of self-pity, he pushes on. He decides that his mom doesn’t smile as much as she should, he makes a point to crack jokes, however bad, to try and brighten her spirits. The neighbors know well the sound of his laugher. He is fine. He is loved. The nagging sense of not belonging that sometimes nips at his heels struggles to keep up with him. That changes in a single moment when he overhears something that causes him to trip. Trip and fall. Fall into the dirt where all the gritty feelings of disappointment, hurt, and loneliness seem to cling to him in places where no amount of soap (not even the extra bubbly kind) will help.

    “Bastard.” That is the tripping stone’s name. One word, that one ugly word. He sees all his feelings of exclusion through a stunningly clear, yet jagged piece of what remained of the lie he had been telling himself: _It’s in your mind, everything is fine._ No. It’s very real. That word does not hurt because of the way it sounds. The slight buzz of the ‘B’, and the roundness of the ‘d’ don’t hurt. They inflict no damage. No, the pain that word causes is because it is a collection of every cold stare, every whispered remark, and every judgment passed… Heisuke isn’t stupid, he’s known all along that his birth was not the accepted norm, that his mother has no formal ties to his father. Still he hadn’t fully grasped how that difference twisted the way people see him into something so unlike the way he sees himself. That word clarifies it. He exists because his mother did something _wrong._ Does that make him wrong too? Everything snaps together with jarring certainty that makes his stomach drop, and some sort of annoying lump insists on sticking his throat no matter how hard he swallows. _Bastard_. All it means is that his parents aren’t married, yet it stings much worse than that. Because that word builds a wall between him and seemingly everyone else. The wall is solid stone in spots, and glass in others. Some moments he is just a breath away from the other side. He can see his reflection in it; a reflection that nearly matches the one he has seen all along. Other times he is so firmly blocked off, no amount of effort or charm will allow him to reach the other side. Inhale, exhale. Right foot, left foot. Those simple commands drive him forward. Feeling as though he doesn’t have a place of his own, a place that he can share with others and have them shares theirs in return, hurts him. But pain is temporary. With a steadfast determination, and exuberance only a child can manage he continues to reach out to others no matter how many times he is rejected.

**_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

    Clashing bokken, excited shouts, and calm instructions become a sort of melody that soothes Heisuke’s unease. Here, in this dojo, he thinks he belongs. His blood races, and excitement jolts through his body every time he swings at his sparring partner. The vibration of his wooden sword clashing with another travels through his arms, through the rest of his body until it shakes all of his doubts away. So long as he stands under this roof the B-word doesn’t matter. It is nothing, worthless. It holds no power over him. Here he has friends, he has people who are proud of him. Turns out he has a knack for the Hokushin Itto-ryo style. The praise of his teachers is more than enough to build his confidence into a flame that cauterizes the wounds left by the harshness of people who had judged him based on the condition of his birth. The other students are friendly and welcoming. The jaded hardness that led their parents to pass judgment on him has not yet been carved into them. Eyes that are still youthful and open invite him to join them. To belong. With the strength growing in his limbs, comes a renewed strength within. Walking home from his lessons he no longer walks close to the edge of the buildings, trying to stay within shadows that would veil him from that unnerving feeling of eyes on him. No, now he walks down the middle of the road. He has a right to be here. He has begun to believe more strongly in his own value, and can see that belief reflected by those other than his mother for the first time.

    Friends. Another word Heisuke has heard many times, and not realized the power of until now. He lets the word roll around on his tongue enjoying the way the sweetness of it cuts through the bitter taste _bastard_ left. All around him new experiences and possibilities seem to open up just from the simply having others around who genuinely seem to appreciate him. Maybe this is why his mother, and other adults are always rambling on about the importance of friendship. See, he does pay attention… sometimes. The other boys push him to work harder. To not only improve himself, but to help them as well. They could learn from each other’s talents. There are so many things he struggles with. Handwriting for example. Some people have such pretty writing, their characters perfectly shaped with clear edges. Sometimes he traces his mom’s writing with his finger tip trying to teach his hand to recreate the smoothness of it. His writing tends to be messy, and rather inconsistent. His mother calls his writing ‘stylish’ although he is fairly certain that is just a nice way of saying sloppy. Speaking of sloppy he is definitely a bit of a messy eater… And how many times has his mom scolded him for getting his clothes filthy? Messiness seems to be a common thread that is woven through many of his actions. His swordsmanship, however, is not sloppy. His teachers praise the sharpness and decisiveness of his movements. Although they only use wooden weapons at their young age he’s on track for when the time would come to use real blades.

    In sparring practice he never backs down from any of the boys who ask to challenge him. No matter how much bigger or older they are he accepts immediately, and today is no different. The anticipation of his bout beginning bubbles up inside him, body going automatically to his starting stance. The word to begin have barely passed the lips of their teacher when the two boys leap toward each other. Height is definitely on his opponents side (his growth spurt could come any day now) and it is apparent the boy plans to exploit the hell out of that advantage. He raises his bokken against a downward swing absorbing the shock from the block through his fingers all the way down to where his feet stand rooted to the floor. Each exchange of blows draws him deeper and deeper into the fight. Labored breathing from the other boy singles to him that it’s time. Darting forward he ducks under the ‘blade’ of his opponent before slamming his bokken into the boy’s ribs knocking him harshly to the side. Momentarily he wonders if he swung a little too hard, but that concern is swept away by the euphoria of his victory. Time and time again these practice matches reassure him of his place. Is it strange that he finds learning to fight as soothing as his mom’s singing voice? Probably. But he is starting to get used to being different.

    “Well done Toudou-kun. You’ve improved a great deal.”

    “Thank you.” He bows deeply to the instructor. A dull ache in the muscles of his face reminds him that he has probably been grinning like an idiot for the past five minutes. This only makes him smile more, because damn does smiling feel good. His favorite part about smiling is that it seems to be contagious as though the happiness inside him can somehow be shared with everyone around him. And smiling is _so_ different from the glares and frowns that he is so used to seeing. A simple difference in the direction that muscles pull the edges of the mouth make for the distinction between pain and joy. That upward tilt seems to relax the faces of those around him, and brighten their eyes. All this positivity wraps around him, making him feel warmth that reminds him of the especially fluffy blanket that his mother had made for him. Day by day his spirits improve, and in turn his mom seems less down as well. Maybe he is foolish for thinking so, but it feels as though as long as he is this content with his life, all of the sharpness of _those_ people’s comments will remain dull and mostly harmless, a slightly annoying prodding rather than a stinging slice. His excitement does not waver the whole way home.

    “Mom!” He nearly runs into the door before finally sliding inside. “You should have seen me today!”

    She smiles, though there’s a tiredness that seems to weigh the expression down keeping it from going beyond the corners of her mouth. “Ahh yes, I saw one of your teachers in town yesterday. He is quite impressed with you. If only you were as focused on your chores as you are on your training.”

    “But mom…” A sigh is followed by the sound of him plunking down onto the floor. The surprisingly clean floor. The floor that he was supposed to have swept… three days ago? “Cleaning is boring. And you’re so good at it! Like I’m good at sword practice.” As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows she will protest, so he distracts himself from the inevitable scolding by picking at the mats below him. The scritch-scratch of his nails catching on the fibers is one he actually enjoys, but it annoys the hell out of his mom and oh crap. Shoulders slump forward, and he forces his eyes to meet hers.

    She shakes her head, but she appears more amused than anything and boy is that confusing. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have to help me out around the house. But you are quite talented.” A pause. Conflict passes across her face, and Heisuke watches her swallow hard. A squirming sense of dread begins to lace the muscles of his gut together, this isn’t normal for her. Finally her voice returns. “Your father… He… I believe he would be impressed as well.”

    That comment. It blind-sides him completely. His mind races to make sense of it, but his emotions outpace it. Confusion, surprise, anger. Oh man is there anger. The kind of anger that comes with feeling betrayed, as though somehow her seemingly innocent comment has exposed a chink in the armor his recent positivity had built up. Scrambling to his feet he leaves the room hastily, his mother doesn’t bother to try and stop him. If you asked Heisuke why her comment upset him so much, he wouldn’t be able to put it into words. Words are not always so easy for him. He says whatever is on his mind, but getting the right combination of words can be difficult. He is a physical child. Telling him not to touch the hibatchi hadn’t been nearly as effective in deterring him as actually getting burnt was. Angry red marks, and an achy sting whenever he touched anything reinforced that lesson much more effectively than his mom’s stern warning had. Maybe the reason he is so angry is because of everyone in the world he trusted his mom to be the person who would understand all the shit not being able to have a relationship with his father caused him. Yet there she went. She took the thing that made him happy, and related it to how it would make his father feel. He doesn’t care if it would impress his father. Why would he want to impress a guy who is too _ashamed_ to acknowledge his child? Shame. Because isn’t that what it all comes down to when all of the layers of politics and appearances are stripped away. His dad made it explicitly clear from day one that he did not want to meet his son. Because his son was an accident. A blemish on his reputation as clan leader. Tears begin to sneak out of the corners of his eyes, and he sinks down until his back is pressed firmly against the corner of his bedroom wall. Crying is messy for him, like so many other things. His mom cries sometimes. Although it is sad, it’s kind of pretty too. The water in her eyes makes the even more reflective than normal, and she never makes those awful sounds that some of the girls he sees in town make. The wailing sound they make reminds Heisuke of a cross between a whimpering dog and some sort of strange bird... No, when he cries it is ugly. His hair clings to his face awkwardly because of all the moisture from the waterworks. His skin gets all blotchy, and his shoulders shake as though someone deposited him outdoors in the midst of winter.

    Why is he crying when he’s angry? Angry people aren’t supposed to cry. Angry people yell, scream, punch, kick. Crying is for when you are sad or injured. Injured. That word resonates with him. His body is fine, other than a couple of bruises here and there from normal kid stuff. But there is this aching in his chest, and a hollow feeling in his gut that makes him feel fragile. It reminds him of those figurines of his mom’s he broke, on accident of course. When something is hollow and you break it, it caves in. The shattered pieces collapse into the original until it is both smaller and unrecognizable. Perhaps this is why he prefers solid objects. They have a weight to them, a presence that is firm and unyielding. And if you do manage to break something solid, the pieces go outward. Outward means that they reached a greater distance, means that they become bigger than they had been in a matter of speaking. Yes, it’s definitely preferable to be solid and steadfast. But he is not. Not in this moment. Old insecurities threaten to poke holes in him, to collapse him into himself. Even more threatening than anything though, is the fact that he _does_ care that his father would be proud. For a brief moment his mother’s comment had made him happy. And it shouldn’t have, or should it have? It’s his dad, but does that man even have the right to be recognized as his father? Questions. So many questions that are bigger than him. Probably bigger than his mom too. Questions he simply does not have the energy to deal with. His head lolls back against the wall, and the weight of his concerns transform into a weight that drags his eyelids down. Fuzziness, darkness. For a boy that normally protests ‘bedtime’ he is relieved when sleep takes him.

**_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

    Time is really an asshole sometimes. It leaves some relatively unscathed, others changed dramatically, and somethings gone completely with little indication that they had ever existed. Heisuke himself has changed. Although he’s still one of the shorter students at his dojo, he is strong and sturdy. Muscles that had once struggled just to keep a bokken steady, now have the strength to swing a real sword with ease. Time had not as kind to his mother as it had been to him. Her hair is now touched by grayness despite the fact she is actually younger than many of his friends’ mothers. Lines are beginning to form in her face, as though everything life challenged her with has left its signature on her skin. It reminds Heisuke vaguely of battle scars he has seen on soldiers, and guards. Proof stamped into flesh that they had faced conflict, but had survived it. In many ways his mom is no different. She has endured a lot, and much of it because of him. That is a thought he tries to avoid, because it makes him hurt inside every time he looks at his mom. Kids are supposed to bring joy, and having him has made her life so much harder than it would have been… And it is partially her own stupid fault, but it’s also his fault, and his father’s fault, and god damn it this is why he doesn’t think about it. Because any time his thoughts loop back to his father he is entering dangerous territory.

    His eyes drift to the sword that sits propped up in the corner of his room. Kazusanosuke Kaneshige. That’s what his father called it the note that came along with the weapon about two weeks ago. Of course he had not actually met his dad to receive the gift. No. His father had sent one of his men to deliver it to the home where Heisuke and his mom live. Apparently his old man is proud of him after all, just like his mother had anticipated he would be years ago. His mastery of the Hokushin Itto-ryo style is superb for anyone, especially one as young as himself. A crooked smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. If only he were his father’s legitimate son think of all the father-son bonding they could do over his achievements. Really the blade is an extremely generous gift, crafted by the clan’s private swordsmith. Gripping the _tsuka_ makes him feel as though his hand and the sword already know each other, the weight and length are ideal for him. And that is why he refuses to get attached to the damn thing. He knows some men who seem to almost ‘bond’ with a particular sword, and he wants no part of that with this blade. It is a perfect fit for him, and that is cruel. Cruel because it makes him feel like he might belong, as though there must be some place for him in the Ise Tsu clan when he _knows_ there isn’t. So he will use this sword, he’d be dumb not to, but he will not grow overly fond of it. Especially not after the note that accompanied it.

_Heisuke,_

_I am presenting you with this sword,_ Kazusanosuke Kaneshige, _as a reward for your recent success in achieving certification in Hokushin Itto-ryo. I have heard your skills are tremendous for someone so young, I’d expect nothing less from my son. However, do not take this an invitation to seek me out. The arrangements I have with your mother and you will remain the same as always._

_Lord Toudou of the Ise Tsu Clan_

    That piece of paper had gone up in flames shortly after he received it. Watching the fire lick up the paper and scorch away the only acknowledgement he’d ever received from his father had left him surprisingly numb. That fucking asshole couldn’t say anything else. Really? A good job, and a ‘don’t come find me.’ Working his jaw back and forth in frustration leaves his teeth sore, and his jaw bones stiff. Better yet, his mom expected him to be thrilled with his gift. And once again he is reminded that even she doesn’t understand. Tracing his fingertips along the sword’s _saya_ is soothing despite the conflicting emotions the weapon itself stirs up. The coolness of the metal helps to lull the anger-fed heat that courses through his body. Slowly the frustration fades into the background where it always lurks, but rarely make itself known. Really he is a very upbeat person. Although he is quick to get fired up, his temperament doesn’t leave him prone to prolonged bouts of anger. This is convenient seeing as he has to be to the dojo in about twenty-minutes, and entering a sparring match with those kinds of thoughts hanging over his head would be a recipe for disaster.

   The walk there isn’t too bad. The townspeople still view him as a second-class citizen but it is easy enough to ignore, especially since his recent certification seems to dissuade some of his critics from being quite so vocal. Heisuke has conflicting feelings about that. Fear is not something he tries to inspire in others. And is their new silence really any better than their outward reactions? The same thoughts and emotions fill them, only now some have sense enough to know that if he wanted to he could probably seriously hurt (kill) them. That is almost worse. Because those people who had been so willing to speak when he appeared to be no more than a harmless child are the ones who are quieter now. Not because of a new found respect, but because now he could actually fight back if he so chose to do so. There is no less distain for him knotted around their hearts than there ever was, they just lack the guts to act on it. If nothing else he wishes they would be consistent and straightforward. None of this behind his back bullshit.

    Arriving at the dojo has always provided him with relief. A welcomed break from the crap he has to put up with outside its walls. Unfortunately, since the arrival of his Kazusanosuke Kaneshige things have been a bit off. It’s a subtle shift, so subtle he may have been able to make himself believe he was imagining it, were it not for the way his shoulders automatically tense up when someone’s eyes fell on his sword, or the way his skin starts to crawl as if everything they _aren’t_ saying is clinging on to him, dragging him back to that place he doesn’t want to go. So he digs in his heels. Even if he knows something has changed, that doesn’t mean that he can’t pretend that everything is ok. This is fine, the other students are fine, he is fine. Maybe if he repeats it over, and over again it will numb his mind into thinking it’s true. Ignoring a problem rarely fixes it, but there are no other options in sight. If he tries to bring it up to his friends, he’d make an even bigger issue than the one he (wasn’t) imagining. So he keeps his concerns to himself, shoving them down, and down until they are buried so deeply within him that it is impossible to tell whether he’s ignoring or internalizing at this point. Maybe it’s a character flaw. Seeing people happy, and focusing on all the positives is his goal. But the more he tries to hold on to all of this joy, the more discontents he has to swallow. He can bare it, he’s tough. More, and more he forces every fear, and every uneasy thought into the mental hole he has dug for them. The warnings are all there right in front of his face, written on the backs of his hands. But repression is a funny thing. The longer he holds these things back, the greater the pressure on him. Pressure… Pressure that can go only one of two ways. It could press all these unruly thoughts into something useful, or it could press until everything explodes.

    Heisuke knows he isn’t exactly lucky, but he never saw the way things would blow up in his face coming. The past couple of weeks have been hard on one of the boys he’s close too. His family has been struggling to the point he’s been having to miss training several times a week to take odd jobs around town. It’s purely good intentions that lead Heisuke to offer help, because he hates to watch someone he cares about suffer. He looks so defeated, the bags under his eyes and weariness in the set of his shoulders have Heisuke concerned. The decision to help wasn’t a hard one, what exactly to do to help is much more difficult. He struggles with ideas, everything seems either too much or too little. When you use the wrong tool for the job you can end up breaking whatever it is you were trying to fix, and that’s something he’s desperate to avoid. Breaking friendships is far worse than breaking things. Friendships aren’t as easy to fix, people aren’t as easy to fix. You can’t sew a friendship back together the same way his mother fixes his clothes. Actually, he is the kind of kid that put tears in things quite frequently. So frequently that his mom attempted to teach him to sew once, and he’d been offended because boys don’t sew. What he didn’t tell her is that he practiced for several hours after, resulting in multiple pin pricks to his poor fingers. If he messes this up, he can’t take it to his mom and ask her to put it back together. But he still has to help, because standing by and watching a friend struggle makes you a pretty crappy friend. He never wants to be left all alone because he had been a bad friend. Craving social interaction only to be met with constant distain has potentially warped his desire for companionship. He tells himself if he has friends that’s proof that _they_ were wrong about him. Burying all of the hurt inside himself has allowed it to carve holes into him in places he never would have expected, and using friendship to plug those holes makes him feel better. It also makes him less choosey about who he’s friends with, and that’s a lesson he wishes he’d learned sooner.

    “Hey. You seem kind of bummed lately. Anything wrong?” He waits until most of the other students are gone before approaching his friend. Although he always puts himself out there, this kind of thing makes Heisuke shy, and unsure of himself.

    “Yeah, I guess I’m just tired you know. I’ve been working on top of coming here to help my parents out. Dad isn’t doing great and I’m really worried.”

    Dad. Funny how this whole father thing seems to enjoy smacking him in the face every chance it gets. But he is well versed in the art of ignoring that tug of jealousy that comes after the initial slap. “Oh, I see. I’d wondered why you weren’t coming around as often. I’m sorry about your dad.”

    “Thanks. The doctor thinks he’ll be alright, but he hasn’t been able to work so…” Embarrassment colored his words, as it did his face.

    Heisuke hesitated only a moment or two before offering his assistance. His mom won’t mind, she always taught him to share growing up. “If it would help your family, I usually have a bit of extra cash each month.”

    Suspicion flashes across the face of the other, and Heisuke flinches. That had been the wrong move, and somehow he knows this is going to be worse than the time he misjudged an opponent’s attack and ended up with a black eye. “Really? I thought you lived with just your mother. What do you do for work?”

    “Well I don’t exactly have a job…” Back to reaching into that pile of needles to try and grasp an explanation. He is going to get cut, he isn’t sure how badly. “My dad kind of sends me some extra money every month because he’s not really… He um, yeah…”

   “Interesting. Well thanks, but no thanks. We’ll figure it out on our own.”

    And that’s that. He stands alone in silence until his lungs force him to release a breath he doesn’t recall holding. A vague feeling of sickness has snuck up on him. The conversation replays over, and over until he is feeling like he might throw up. Nothing especially bad happened. So why is he struggling to regulate his breathing now? The ordeal leaves him feeling striped down. Layer after layer falling away, until all those raw parts of himself are in plain sight. He admitted out loud that his father sends money as a substitution for being a parent and that makes it seem even more pathetic. Being put in a situation where he had had no choice but to listen to his own voice share what he has been desperately trying to keep hidden terrifies him. It’s terrifying because despite calling that boy a friend he has no idea what ugly image he might contort those words into. And then he laughs. Clutches his own sides, and doubles over with laugher because there is absolutely nothing else he can do now except wait and see what will happen tomorrow. Hopefully nothing. A friend worth the name wouldn’t say anything to about what he just shared, but he’d gone and opened himself up to this. It’s out of his hands, and no amount of desperate grasping will bring it back so he doesn’t even try.

**_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

    It starts instantaneously. Comments coming from every direction. Harsh and biting, dragging him down until he feels as though he might drown in all the noise. But this isn’t just noise. Noise itself doesn’t sink its teeth in and thrash you about until you can feel the bruises forming on the insides of your mind. No these noises are words, and words have power.

   “It’s no wonder he’s always being treated like he’s something special”

   He cringes. These words have the power to make him doubt his skills as a warrior. Did his dad’s influence really have anything to do with why he had progressed as quickly as he did? Maybe it hadn’t been his drive and ability after all. All of the thoughts he worked so hard to repress come rushing back up with dizzying force.

   “Must be nice to have a rich dad, even if you are a bastard”

    For the love of god how long do they intend to go on for? Each comment hooks him, and peels away his mask of confidence. Bastard. There it is again, laughing in his face. There just to remind him that he _isn’t_ immune to its sting. No matter how many times he hears it, it still has a certain barb to it. Steady, in and out, ignore it- damn it, this is not working. None of his coping skills seem to be effective now, trying to put his familiar smile back on his face is useless. His lips twitch, but refuse to hold the right shape.

    “I told you he wasn’t like the rest of us. You’ve seen the way people treat him. Our instructors act like he’s better than us, but the people in town look ready to spit on him.”

 _Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up._ It isn’t fair. How could they turn on him on so quickly? What exactly his ‘friend’ had said to them he has no clue, but something else is clear now. They are all no different than any of the people who looked down upon him and his mother. They were never any different, he has just been too naïve to see it until now. Too desperate to soothe the pains of not knowing his father with the closeness of others. And what a price he is paying for it now. A price he pays with parts of himself, not with any amount of money his father has sent. It hurts though none of the boys lay a hand on him. Their teachers try, and fail to quiet the uproar. If they would just come at him, he could do something. Swords are a weapon he knows well. Knows how to protect himself, how to fight back even when as outnumbered as he is now. This kind of attack makes him feel completely vulnerable. Fear and confusion crack under the pressure of anger. Enough. He’s had enough. His hand goes toward his sword, before he freezes. _What am I doing?_ If he draws now… No, he can’t do it. This is already a fight lost. Attacking them now will do nothing to repair the damage done. Any chance of belonging here is gone. The only thing that remains is the image scorched into his mind of looking around the room, and seeing not a single person willing to stand with him. So he flees. This is not a proud moment, but it is of vital importance. He has probably always known it would come to this, even if he never admitted it. This place (home, the dojo, the town, all of it) is corrosive. He can’t stay here any longer. He isn’t willing to subject himself to this kind of torment anymore. So he will leave tonight. And maybe this kind of decision deserves more time to think, more time to weigh the costs but if he’s honest with himself he has been heading toward this choice for a long time now. This is his decision, there is no room left for regrets.

**_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

    How exactly he ended up in Edo, Heisuke isn’t sure. He had picked a direction, and taken off when he left home not knowing where he would end up. Anywhere was better than where he came from. Already he feels revitalized, even if his feet are just about screaming at him in protest for putting them through the abuse of this journey. Tiredness can’t take hold of him now. He is far too excited by the way nobody looks down on him here, they barely notice him at all. And really he should be worrying about finding a place to stay, but he can’t bring himself to care because he is free. When he closes his eyes his treacherous mind replays the events that led to his departure, but then he opens them and he is reminded that he is out of their reach. Still he can’t afford to be completely off his guard, and as the shadows on the ground begin to grow longer figuring out where he’s going and what he’s doing becomes more of a priority. Where does someone like him go? This is the uncomfortable part of uprooting yourself. Nothing is familiar, and when you’ve become so used to scorn everywhere you look this is not a bad thing per say, but it’s still disorienting.

    A battered sign catches his attention. _Shieikan_. The building appeared to be a sort of dojo, although it’s lacking much of the polish and prestige the one back home had. Actually this place looks like it has seen much better days. The exterior shows signs of time eroding away any beauty it may have had. The roof is probably leaky too… If he were to blow hard enough on the front door it might just fall over. There is absolutely nothing outwardly impressive about the place, but his feet begin to take him toward it anyway. _I’ll just see if I can watch a practice. That would be ok, right?_ Anxiety nearly grips him when he remembers he hasn’t entered a dojo since things went to shit in Ise, but it’s hard to be intimidated by this place and the anxiety passes as quickly as it came. Even the air surrounding it carries none of the tension he had grown so used to. Nothing choking him, nothing driving his nerves to the edge until they start to fray. Glancing up at the entrance, his expectations aren’t exactly high. If the building looks like this, they probably lack funds. No funds means not a lot of students. And not a lot of students means that the students they do have probably aren’t very good. That detail only serves to lull him further into a sense of confidence. Confident enough that his voice shows no signs of hesitation or doubt when he calls out.

    “Hey! Anybody there?”

    He waits a moment before yelling again, “Hello?”

    There is movement inside, but still no one answers. Aggravation prickles under his skin, and he can’t decide if he’s going to leave or-

    Finally someone appears in the entry way. Cool brown eyes peer at him from behind glasses, and he finds himself shifting uncomfortably even though this man can’t possible know his secret (is that even the right word for it?). “May I ask what you are doing at our dojo?”

    It takes him several seconds to formulate a response, and oh god he probably seems slow. “Well I’m- I was looking to find a new dojo.”

    “Oh. I see.” His tone gives nothing away, and Heisuke fights the urge to back away as the other man takes a step forward. The way this guy carries himself is nothing like the guys he sparred against back home. “You’re new to this area. I would have recognized you if you came from any of the local dojos.” He hadn’t thought he was doing a bad job blending in, but he gets the distinct impression that this man is extremely observant and not much escapes his attention.

    “Yeah, I just got here actually.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet he tries to ignore how unsure he sounds.

    “Very well, I suppose there is no harm in showing you around. Although Kondo-san, and Hijikata-san won’t be returning until later this evening.” A small smile, “But please don’t use the absence of our leaders as an excuse to try anything foolish. That would be quite unfortunate for all parties involved.”

    Heisuke follows him inside, half expecting to get jumped after the lukewarm reception he’d received. Much like the exterior, the inside of the building also appears to be in need of a cleaning and some repairs. Unlike the outside, however, it’s full of life. Three more men stand scattered around the room, which seems entirely too small to contain the amount of energy that’s radiating from each of them. Two appear to be a bit older than him, while the third seems to be closer to his age. Those eyes were rather disconcerting though. Glinting with excitement, and something else that Heisuke’s fairly certain he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of.

    “Oi! Who’s that, Sannan-san?” The speaker’s enthusiasm rolls off of him in waves as he bounds towards them.

    “He has come to see Shieikan as potential choice for a new dojo. However, I don’t believe he’s been kind enough to share his name yet.”

    “Well that’s rude of him, isn’t it?” There’s a lilting quality to that voice that makes him unsure of whether or not he is being made fun of. “I’m Okita Souji, let’s have your name.”

    “Toudou Heisuke.” Part of him wants to leave off his family name, but doing so would only draw more unwanted attention to it.

   “I’m Nagakura Shinpachi! And that’s-“

    “Harada Sanosuke. You’ll have to excuse Shinpachi. It’s been awhile since anyone new has come around, and he’s a bit overwhelmed with excitement.”

    Heisuke can’t help but chuckle at the betrayed look that crosses Nagakura’s face. Really he’s acting like more of a kid than Heisuke, sputtering with indigence. It’s a relief that for once it isn’t him whose words are bound up in his throat until his tongue remembers how to form the sounds that make up words.

   “Hey Sano, why do you have to be like that?” An elbow to the ribs, answered with a punch to the shoulder.

    The familiarity of the whole exchange reaches out to Heisuke, and draws from him a sense of longing. This is something he has never gotten to experience. The vividness of these guys make the memories of his own ‘friendships’ back home become pale and flimsy, curling up and rolling away in their uselessness. His heart clenches for a moment; he’s looking over the edge of a cliff at everything he left behind, and not a thing jumps out at him as worthy of staying for and that makes it all the more hurtful. Before he can teeter over the edge he’s drawn back by the presence of the other four in the room. He is not alone, there’s a purpose behind his coming here. Besides that, he promised himself he would never let those memories from home take him because, damn them all, he _is_ worthy of being happy and secure. Security and safety are not the same things, though they are often used together. Safety isn’t all that important to him if his occupation is any indication. Living the life of a warrior gave no promises of safety. The chances of a long life were slim, but that did not mean you couldn’t be secure. Security meant that you knew for certain you had a place where you belonged. A place where you would always be accepted and-

   “So new kid, what school of fighting do you practice?” There is something distinctly challenging in Okita’s eyes that betrays the overly cheerful tone of his voice.

   “Hokushin Itto-ryu.”

   “Ah” Okita nods, and Heisuke scrambles to catch the bokken that is thrown at him. “Well then, why don’t we let Shinpachi try you out?”

    Nagakura steps forward, his own wooden sword balancing on one palm as it rests against his shoulder. His posture reads confidence from head to toe. “Now’s your chance to back out.”

    Heisuke places his real blade on the ground. “No thanks, you’re not actually all that intimidating.” His comment earns laughter from Harada, and even Nagakura himself doesn’t seem offended. If anything he appears more eager than ever.

    Sannan-san appears resigned to the inevitable battle about to begin, and takes the chance to excuse himself, leaving Harada and Okita as their only audience. He and Nagakura bow to each other, as he attempts to get comfortable with the equipment. He gets that they’re short on cash, but he’s almost certain this bokken is going to give him splinters. Really it’s more of a somewhat sword shaped stick, than the smoothed out practice weapons he’s used to. He smiles, more incentive not to get hit. Nagakura attacks first, he blocks and god damn is this guy strong. The clash of the bokken blocks out the sound of his teeth knocking together with the incredible force of the attack. There is no time to think before his opponent’s weapon comes flying toward him again. Isn’t there some sort of rule that says someone as large as this guy shouldn’t be this fast? Still it doesn’t bother Heisuke. With each meeting of their bokken they pour more and more into their fight. Control bounces back and forth, sometimes he’s blocking, other times he’s got Nagakura on the defensive. Each swing has his body thrumming with eagerness, he has not felt this good in recent memory. Back up, block, lunge, turn, and strike. It wasn’t his intention to get into a match with anyone when he had arrived here today, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Both freeze for a moment with bokken pointed at one another, and matching smiles on their faces. _Don’t hold back_. The sentiment rings in the sounds their attacks make, and Heisuke knows the other two can hear it when they look at each with that knowing expression.

   Each movement he makes is filled with every part of himself, and he can tell it’s the same for Nagakura. Never in his life has he felt so at home. At home in the middle of fight with a guy he just met? He would laugh if not for his muscles requiring each breath he takes to keep moving at this rapid pace. After a particularly vicious exchange they’ll back away from each other. _Breath, collect yourself, and continue._ Neither of them want this to end too quickly. There’s something amazing about finding someone who reflects back to you every ounce of energy you put in, and Heisuke loves every second of it. He thinks he sees an opening and moves quickly to capitalize on it. Bokken raised above his head with Nagukura’s own weapon too low to block in time, he pauses and appreciates the way the other’s surprise melts into a grin. Even Harada and Okita are smiling now. His moment of triumph doesn’t last long before Nagukura is striking out at him once more, and they’re moving across the floor of the dojo using not just their bokken anymore. Punches and kicks are flying, but nothing makes a solid connection. This kind of fighting is so different from the way he fought back in his domain where everything was so precise, so planned. The thought snags him, and he can’t help but remember his last day at his former dojo. That memory knocks another lose, and he hears _Bastard_ chiming in his ears.

   Nagakura doesn’t allow him to stay lost in his thoughts, “Oi, pay attention!” An attack comes from behind. He struggles to guard, but manages to knock the other’s weapon away. The fight holds all of his attention once more. Slipping into his own mind isn’t an option now- his opponent won’t let him and for that Heisuke is grateful. Instead of a ‘thank you’ he shows his gratitude by fighting back with renewed fervor. In all his life he has never fought better than he is right now as he drives forward. This isn’t over yet, and Nagakura makes damn sure he knows it. They’re moving so quickly his mind isn’t sure what exactly is happening, but his body moves to match each attack that comes his way. It’s a valiant effort, but this fight has gone on longer than any he’s ever been in and he just isn’t quite fast enough when Nagakura strikes him in the stomach. The force of the bokken to his gut sends him stumbling backwards until he finally lands on his butt. He lost, and yet it’s hard to be disappointed when everyone around him is smiling.

   Okita speaks first, “I didn’t expect you to last half that long. Either you’re decent or Shinpachi is losing his touch~”

   “Shut up Souji! He’s pretty damn good. Not what I was expecting from someone who looks like a scrawny kid.” Nagakura helps haul him to his feet.

    “Thanks, I think.” Heisuke scratches at the back of his neck.

   Harada places a hand on his shoulder. It’s nice but sort of weird at first because the only person who ever really touched him without complete disinterest or trying to cause bodily harm was his mother. “Don’t let Souji get to you. You did really well, Shinpachi is quite skilled with a sword even if you can’t tell from first impressions.”

   “Yeah that’s right- Hey wait! What’s that’s supposed to mean, Sano?”

    Laugher is the only response he gets, and Heisuke can’t help but join it.

    “See what you did, now you’ve got him laughing at me too. What kind of friend are you?” It’s meant to be scolding, but with everyone in such good humor it comes out with laughter bubbling under the surface.

    “Well, it seems you’ve earned their approval.” Sannan-san’s voice makes him jump. He’d been too caught up in the banter between the others to notice his return. “We’ll have to see what Hijikata-san and Kondo-san think when they return, but I doubt they’ll turn you away.”

    Heisuke tries to place all of the emotions he’s feeling, but it’s difficult to focus when laughing so hard has left him gasping for breath. One thought breaks through his daze; he wants to be a part of this. Wants to stay in the place where for the first time in his life he feels completely at ease. These men are technically strangers, but he still feels closer to them than he had any of the guys back home. Now he is starting to realize that what he called friendship previously was nothing compared to what they had here, and wow did he hope they would let him stay.

**_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_**

    “Knock it off Shin, that’s my food! I’m still growing, damn it!” He tries to hold his food out of Shinpachi’s reach, but his arms just aren’t quite long enough.

    Shinpachi shoves Heisuke’s food into his mouth, “I need it more. I’m bigger than you, Heisuke.”

    He glances to Sano for help, but the other man just grins and shakes his head. He’s not stupid enough to come in-between one of their food fights, which are arguably even more heated than their initial fight. Heisuke had been welcomed to Shieikan just as Sannan-san had predicted, and his food is a small price to pay for that (not that he’d ever let Shinpachi know). He has earned the right to use most of the other’s first names, after insisting they just call him Heisuke. The more he can leave out the ‘Toudou’ part of his name the better. Meeting Hijikata-san and Kondo-san had been great too. Kondo-san was… Well not what he expected for one. The man is so friendly, and actually a bit naïve but Heisuke admires that about him. His relationship with Souji reminds Heisuke of the way two brothers from back in Ise used to behave together. Souji practically glows when Kondo-san praises him. It’s a side of Souji that Heisuke could stand to see a little more often. Seeing the way it softens the sharpness of those green eyes, and eases some of the tension he always seems to carry makes him happy for Souji. Finding joy in the happiness of those around him was just one of the many things he had come to love about this place.

   Hijikata-san was another story. His first impressions of Hijikata-san made him extremely aware of why the others were always calling him the ‘demon.’ Honestly, he is quite terrifying when he wants to be. Time and observation has allowed Heisuke to realize that under the surface Hijikata-san actually cares deeply about all of the guys here. He’s just rather inept when it comes to showing it. But that’s ok, because he’s gotten pretty good at understanding Hijikata-san’s language. Like when he got cracked over the head for not making it home before curfew. _I was worried about you._ Yes, he simply cares so much that it causes others physical pain. And if Heisuke’s counting how much Hijikata-san cares based on how much pain he inflicts, then he must care a whole heck of a lot about him. Although, some of his discipline-related injuries should have gone to Shinpachi or Sano… Those jerks are fantastic at putting all of the blame for the stupid shit the three of them do together on only him.

    Actually, they had felt kind of bad after he’d received a particularly bad balling out from their demon commander. It was kind of hilarious thinking back on it. The two of them were probably a little less than sober at the time. Sano had brought him ice, but he’d forgotten to wrap it anything so he was stuck holding a handful of melting shards against the bruise on Heisuke’s head. Of course the ice melted, and soaked his hair. He gives Sano a lot of credit though, he didn’t move even when the melting ice started to run down his arm and get his shirt wet. Shin’s attempts at ‘helping’ weren’t much better. He had brought Heisuke food, and sake because there isn’t anything in life that a full belly and alcohol can’t fix. Alright, there are probably a few things that they can’t fix, but Shin was trying. The only problem was that he ended up eating more than half of what he’d brought himself. And in his somewhat inebriated state he’d managed to dump some of the sake on Heisuke, and that was fine. Alcohol sterilizes wounds after all. Even if it wasn’t that kind of injury… But it’s the thought that counts!

    Hijikata-san dubbed them the ‘Idiot Trio,’ and he likes it. It fits the three of them well. Yes, they do stupid shit, anytime they go out drinking they’re bound to get in a brawl with someone. They look forward to it, but Hijikata-san doesn’t need to know that part. The point is that they’re always there to patch each other up afterwards. Most of the time they’re too drunk to make it back to their respective rooms after a night of festivities. And that’s not a problem because Heisuke has learned that Shinpachi’s back makes a great pillow, and Sanosuke’s legs work really well as a foot rest. Waking up hung over is always unpleasant, but it’s easier to forget about his own pounding head when he’s more concerned about if Shin drank enough water, or if Sano was going to need a bucket. They returned the favor. The first time he got _really_ drunk poor Sano had to hold his ponytail from falling into the bucket, and Shinpachi had made something up to keep Hijikata-san from reaming him out when his head already felt as though it might explode. It goes beyond drinking though. The three of them always have each other’s backs, be it in a fight or just life in general. Heisuke’s not sure if this is what it feels like to have older brothers, he’s an only child and has no siblings to compare them to. What he does know is that they’re his best friends, and he would never be able to walk away from them the way he had the boys he once thought of as friends back home.

    It’s not only Sanosuke and Shinpachi either. Everyone here is like a giant family, and he is absolutely sure that this is the place where they can all be happy together. Souji doesn’t make him uncomfortable anymore, although he still has a healthy respect for his swordsmanship. Souji is also really bad at jokes (seriously, he thinks ‘I’ll kill you’ is a perfectly acceptable joke), puts Kondo-san above all else, and there’s a really strange dynamic between him and Hijikata-san, but Heisuke still wouldn’t want to see him replaced by anyone else. Hijikata-san scolds him at least once a day, and hits him on regular basis. And that is great. It feels wonderful to have someone who cares enough about him that they’re willing to act almost like a mom. Albeit a far more violent mom than his own… Kondo-san holds everyone together, he’ll take in anyone with ambition and loyalty. That man is too nice for his own good, and it drives Hijikata-san nuts. But without his generosity they wouldn’t have this place that they had all learned to call home. Sure he wasn’t born into the warrior class (neither was Hijikata-san), but his ideals sound right to Heisuke. They’re something he’s willing to put his support behind one-hundred percent. He’s tempted to tell Kondo-san and Hijikata-san that being born into a warrior family isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. His blue blood, and daimyo father never did much for him. And family doesn’t have to be the one you’re born into… But he keeps quiet about that. Someday he’ll open up about his past. That day doesn’t have to come soon though. Nobody here is worried about the past, they all have their own stories. How they got here doesn’t change anything. All that matters is the future they share.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this!
> 
> I love the Idiot Trio, and I just had to write this after I only mentioned their awesome friendship briefly in my last fic. I'm not sure who the next fic I post will focus on, we shall see what gets done first. But for now I'm just relieved to have this finished. It just kept going, no matter how much I tried to reign it in.


End file.
